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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29800086">Crossed lines</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelarun/pseuds/Nelarun'>Nelarun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alex is a board member, Alex likes annoying Kurst, Domestic Violence, Gen, He's also not nice, Implied/Referenced Torture, Possessive Behavior, SCORPIA Member Alex Rider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:27:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29800086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelarun/pseuds/Nelarun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Because even terrorists had limits. (Okay, so maybe it's less that someone hit their partner and more that someone hit one of his employees. Either way, a line had been crossed and Alex would make sure no one crossed that line ever again).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crossed lines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">There was something to be said about the restorative effects the Mediterranean sun and sea had on the soul. The Ionian Islands off the Greek coast were his favourite place in the world. Some Board members thought he had lost it when he'd made his residence in such a public place, and sure there were at least five intelligence agencies watching him right now, making sure little Alex Rider didn't do something stupid. And maybe his old boss had thrown the book at him (literally... Alex still had a dent in his collar bone to prove it), but he liked it here. </p><p class="western">He took a deep breath, tasting the salt on his lips and he smiled as he leaned against a pillar and watched the waves crash onto the beach. This was his favourite time of the day: five minutes of scheduled downtime that was his and his alone. Five whole minutes where he didn't have to be Mr Rider, Scorpia's youngest Board Member, most wanted assassin on most continents, charming and entirely too effective a spy. Five whole minutes where he could be Alex Rider, a young man on a Greek island, enjoying the sun on his skin and the fresh air of the ocean.  </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He bit back a laugh when he nearly heard the cursing of his security team. They hated these five minutes almost as much as Alex loved it. His office may be fronted by glass, but it was ballistic glass, which was vastly different to a balcony open to the elements. It was a fair assessment - there were at least three places a determined assassin could sneak up, four hiding spots and maybe five points where someone could storm him. But it would be a suicide run and everyone knew it. And if anyone got close enough that Alex had to act in his own defence, every guard would be questioned regarding their involvement and punishments would be dolled out to prevent future incompetence. </p><p class="western">Alex wasn't like the other board members, or even other Scorpia operatives. The verdict for a first offence of incompetence shouldn't be the death penalty and despite Kurst's sneer, it had nothing to do with sentimentality and everything to do with the fact that Alex was <em>painfully</em> aware of how much it cost to train even one of these guards, let alone an operative. He was ruthlessly practical that way. So he wouldn't kill on a first offence, and he wouldn't kill for incompetence. He killed to teach a lesson, and those lessons always stuck. </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">So Alex wasn't at all concerned that he would be assassinated during these five minutes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The door to his office opened and he sighed. By his count he still had twenty-three seconds, so he kept his gaze on the ocean. Looking into his office would admit that he had another life that didn't involve sunshine and ocean and fresh air. But then his twenty-three seconds were up and he readied himself to face the rest of the day, Alex Rider falling into the depths of his mind as Mr Rider came to the fore. Alethea, his executive officer, was waiting for him. She had a file in hand and he swore internally. He had a feeling that was about the Australian op.</p><p class="western">Madeleine Reynard had shown such promise and was proving to be a liability. The Australian's weren't that stupid. Oh they faked it pretty well most of the time, but he knew them well enough to see the signs that they were started to tire of turning a blind eye to a Scorpia operative in their country. Alex stepped through the door already deciding that if Madeleine couldn't handle business in that backward hell-hole of a country, then the Australians could have her. Kurst would have to deal with the loss of an operative. It was entirely good chance that Alex would have an operative waiting in the wings to step in and force the Australian op back on track. </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Of course, whatever Madeleine had or hadn't done, the impact couldn't be too serious. Alethea would have interrupted his five minutes if it was. She'd done it before.</p><p class="western">He heard her shift and he turned his attention back to her. He'd stolen her from logistics shortly after he became one of Kurst's lieutenants and Alethea had been with him ever since. When Kurst had demanded an explanation for a Greek civilian wandering around one of his bases, Alex had shrugged but pointed out that anyone who could organise the kind of supplies SCORPIA operatives needed, past all those borders, and on time, had to be good enough to keep the minions in line.</p><p class="western">So Kurst had made him pay for it, but he'd also ensured that Alethea was off limits, and grudgingly admitted that the woman was worth her increased salary.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He took the file she held out and skimmed the brief, looks like Madeleine had actually gotten two of her targets accomplished, but something felt wrong. He read Alethea's note in the margin about her failing a timed check-in and while he knew Kurst really wanted access to the Australian's over-the-horizon radar, he also knew that Kurst would prefer to ensure this was accurate first. He was about to tell Alethea to get their men onto it when he saw her shift again, subtly moving all weight off one foot without lifting it.</p><p class="western">She was wearing heels, and opaque stockings. Alex's gaze flicked back to the report, Australia disappearing from his mind as he pondered that puzzle. Alethea had missed morning briefing, saying that she had slept in, promising that it wouldn't happen again. While she sometimes wore lipstick, she hated make-up and yet here she was, layers of makeup expertly applied, wearing low heels and dark stockings, when she hated heels and stockings. He closed the file and studied her openly now before he told her to close the door. Alethea shot him a look and he saw that her pupils were blown, like she was high, but she obeyed.</p><p class="western">If she was high, Alex would put a bullet through her brain himself. He had a very low tolerance for anyone who came to work in a compromised state. In that case, they <em>were</em> the lesson. He was only willing to give her a chance because she'd never done drugs before.</p><p class="western">“So. What's with the heels?”</p><p class="western">“I just wanted to try something new, Mr Rider.”</p><p class="western">There was a reason Alethea had never been asked to undertake any of the Malagosto courses, she was an abysmal liar. He lifted a brow and let her sweat. Alex had all day. Well he didn't, because Kurst would be furious if he found out that Alex had sat on information about a traitorous operative, especially one who was officially under Kurst's command. But Alethea didn't need to know that.</p><p class="western">Unfortunately, Alethea was quite comfortable with silence and was happy to let it play out. If only her ankle hadn't been throbbing in pain.</p><p class="western">He caught her wince and nodded to the chair opposite his desk. She sat down, hands gripped in her lap, fingers tapping uneasily, eyes focused on the pen on his desk and haltingly explained that she'd been late because of what her husband had done.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alex Rider was a kind person, Mr Rider was not. Hearing that one of his subordinates had been injured in something so petty and stupid and utterly outrageous as a case of domestic violence? That his subordinate had been late because she had been watching internet videos on how to cover bruises with make up, and worn heels as an excuse for why she was walking oddly and stockings because she <em>ran out of concealer</em>. Someone thought they could get away with harming one of his.</p><p class="western">“It's fine, sir.”</p><p class="western">“Put some weight on your ankle. Walk without limping." </p><p class="western">She swallowed, her breath hitching once. “If I hadn't made a mistake with-”</p><p class="western">“Alethea,” he warned. He couldn't have her finish that sentence, couldn't hear the words of 'if I had just done better' or 'if I hadn't made a mistake' or 'this was my fault' because if she did, he would do something out of emotion and fury and his position on the Board would be in peril, which meant all of his people would be in peril.</p><p class="western">“Domestic violence is not something Scorpia deals with,” she pointed out and she was right. Scorpia weren't knights in shining armour, they were the villains in every sense of the word. They wouldn't be moved to even try to deal with something as commonplace as domestic violence.</p><p class="western">But Alex wasn't going to be dealing with a someone who thought that instead of open communication, beating their partner was a solution. No. Alex was going to deal with someone who thought they could harm one of <em>his</em>. </p><p class="western">“Scorpia isn't,” Alex said firmly. “Heels off, you need to go to medical.”</p><p class="western">“Sir-” her pulse jumped. </p><p class="western">“Did he strike your head?” Alex asked as he hit his intercom. He felt ill at the thought that he wanted her to have a head injury. That was better than a drug high. It meant he wouldn't have to put her down. “Dimitri, Alethea needs an escort to medical.”</p><p class="western">“Mr Rider, I'm-”</p><p class="western">“Dimitri,” Alex smiled at the head of his guard, ignoring Alethea's protests. “Tell Dr Bresse that I'll need a full report.”</p><p class="western">“Sir!” Alethea tried to protest but Alex firmly turned back to the file on his desk and Dimitri gently ushered her out.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alex had just finished sending orders to his men in Australia to begin surveillance on Madeleine when Dr Bresse's report hit his inbox. He skimmed it, phrases searing into his mind. <em>Patterns of bruising indicates sustained and repeated trauma... No broken bones... Lacerations from belts and blades... burns from cigarette... Cut on her skull. Patient commented that this was gained after the offender 'threw me against the couch hard enough to break the frame'.</em>There were photographs as well and Alex had to breathe through the rage.</p><p class="western">Alethea had been tortured for months and she'd never let on until she'd literally been thrown hard enough or beaten often enough that the couch broke. The force required for that... and she still came into work? There was a hand print clearly visible around her ankle and he angrily closed the report and considered his options. All his options led to murder, and that was fine, except that it wasn't. </p><p class="western">Alex had learned at Kurst's side that murder was an excellent method of punishment. But how could he punish himself? </p><p class="western">He hadn't seen it. He hadn't even caught on until today. Alethea wasn't combat or assassin. She wasn't an operative. She provided support. While it was encouraged for support personnel to meet minimum physical and fitness standards, it wasn't mandatory and they would never be held to the standards that operatives were. Yet she'd managed to deflect and fool him until she thought she'd get away with wearing heels of all things.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Dimitri,” he said softly as he watched Alethea sleep, having succumbed to the sedatives the doctor had pushed on her. “I'm going to need you to lock down Alethea's apartment block and make her husband aware of what he's done.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, Mr Rider.”</p><p class="western">Alex turned from Alethea. “I'll be there in a few hours. I want him able to talk and see.” He paused. “Take Cara with you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alex stepped into the apartment building, his men lining the corridors till he came to Alethea's apartment. “Through here, Mr Rider.” Even without the helpful directions to the laundry, he would have known exactly where they'd put Jason. The man was handcuffed to a chair, beaten bloody. Dimitri and Cara were standing to the side – Dimitri nursing split knuckles, Cara setting pliers down. Jason was missing most of his fingernails and all of his toe nails.</p><p class="western">“Hello, Jason,” Alex said in Greek as he handed his coat to one of the guards and rolled up his sleeves. Perhaps he should wear a military uniform like he had when he was Kurst's lieutenant, but he rather liked business clothes, and he was a business man at the end of the day. Alex smiled at Jason. People thought it was a nice smile, almost soothing, until they realised that there was no emotion in his eyes. “So,” Alex said congenially. “You like to hit women.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alex had never taken to torture – there were cleaner and more effective ways of gaining information than torture. People would say anything to stop the pain. But Kurst would have killed him if he had let his squeamishness over inflicting pain stop him from following orders and Alex had been horrified to discover that when it was just pain, he almost liked it. This wasn't information gathering. This was punishment, and Alex would enjoy every moment of it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The beeping of medical devices was almost a comforting sound. Scorpia did like to ensure that all their operatives were appropriately healed before they were returned to the field - it was certainly a sound Alex associated with safety. And he was a little concerned how relaxed he felt as he read his reports by Alethea's bed. She'd been asleep for hours now. Alex had even gotten word from Dr Three that he would be taking over the Australian operation after Madeleine proved to have been turned by the Australians. </p><p class="western">And to think, no one would have even suspected anything if Alethea hadn't noted that she'd missed a timed check. He was gleefully sending Kurst a smug, gloating email when Alethea woke up. "You have a concussion," Alex said as he hit send and the email went. He liked to think that Kurst would try to come after him which would give him a legitimate reason to put him in the ground. Or the ocean. He was on an island after all. "You aren't leaving medical until Dr Bresse says you can." He tilted his head and she saw two guards outside her room. "Stephan and Georgio are going to make sure you stay here." </p><p class="western">She swallowed and looked back at him. "Not for protection?" He knew she was trying to smile, but it didn't quite work. He wasn't sure why the idea that he wouldn't care for his people made anger catch in his throat and want to punch someone, or throw someone out of a hot air balloon. </p><p class="western">"Alethea," he stood, tucking the laptop under his arm. "Your husband won't touch you again." </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They should have been reassuring but they sent a shiver down her spine and left her reaching for the blankets at the foot of her bed, and then she froze. Her tablet was on the blankets. Blankets weren't important, what they had done to her husband <em>was</em>. She'd try the news first, and if that failed, she'd go hunting through mission reports. It may cost her her job, or even her life, but she didn't <em>care</em>. And if Mr Rider hadn't wanted her to look, he wouldn't have left the tablet there. He didn't test his people's loyalty like that. He wasn't cruel. </p><p class="western">Or perhaps he was. She stared in horror at the news report. A man's body had been found in his apartment, lying on a broken couch, tied up with power cords, beaten to death. He was missing teeth and all his nails, and the word 'abuser' had been carved deeply into his torso in multiple languages. Police were relying on DNA evidence to try to identify him as his fingerprints and much of his face had been burned with acid. Acid burning in his throat indicated that he'd been awake when the acid had been applied. </p><p class="western">Alethea had always known what kind of organisation, what kind of <em>person</em>, she worked for, but she'd never seen this level of brutality before. Jason hadn't been that bad. Not really. Not compared to some she knew. He had moments of kindness, moments when she remembered why she'd fall in love with him, moments where he made her laugh. He had loved her! And now he was dead and it was all her fault because she hadn't been able to keep one damned secret. </p><p class="western">She threw the tablet to the end of her bed and tried not to cry. The guards were watching her, probably to see how she would react to the news. She was tired, her head hurt, and she just wanted to sleep. So she did. </p><p class="western">The next time she woke, the tablet had been replaced by a folder. She blinked blearily at it before she sat up and studied it. There was a passport with her face in it, but that wasn't her name. Drivers licence, birth certificate, a wallet with cash, bank cards, and a house in the south of France. She suddenly knew what was happening. The guards had given their report and she'd been given an out. This was a chance at a new life if she wanted it, if she saw the ugly side of the business and said 'no more'. She closed the file and leaned back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling and took a deep breath as she made her decision. </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alex Rider's five personal minutes were at the beginning of the day. This morning would be taken up by the day-to-day running of his operations, and this afternoon he had a Board Meeting. Kurst was spitting mad and that always gave him a vindictive sort of thrill. But it also meant that instead of afternoon sun, he was watching the way the sunrise turned the ocean blue and green. These five minutes were his favourite moments, five minutes of a day when he could be Alex Rider, a British ex-pat living on a Greek island, surrounded by the ocean and warm sun. </p><p class="western">But like all peaceful things, they had to come to an end and he turned from the ocean and stepped into his office. </p><p class="western">“Good morning, Mr Rider,” Alethea greeted him as he walked into his office, handing him a cup of coffee as he sat down. “The intelligence briefings from last night are on your desk, here's the report from your operatives in Australia, and Madame Angela would like to set up a meeting to discuss private security for an upcoming party.” Alex rolled his eyes. Madame Angela paid well for Scorpia security at all of her parties. He could do without the constant flirting through. Alethea smiled as though sensing his thoughts. “Line two, sir.” If she had, she certainly wasn't particularly sympathetic.</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Alethea.”</p><p class="western">“Happy to assist, Mr Rider.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p>
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